Closure
by Rose137
Summary: Trory. He left just before she got to know Jess. What would happen if he returned just after Jess left?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls.

He hadn't noticed her flip open her phone as she walked into the school. He'd just seen her walk away from her well-wishers and thought that this was his chance. His chance to do what, he didn't quite know. He'd played it over in his mind again and again and still he had no idea what he was going to say. Ambushing her in the shadowy hallway with a trite hello lacked the finesse he was still so anxious for her to acknowledge. Why, in the name of all that was holy, had he let himself come back here?

"I think that I loved you but I'm over it. Goodbye, Jess."

He stopped short as he heard her speak. Clearly this was his chance to hear her tell whatever loser currently didn't deserve her that she loved him. Again. If she followed her declaration with the admittedly incongruous announcement that she still hated Tristan he'd have to rip off his ears with his bare hands since there was no more appropriate implement immediately visible. His jaw clenched as he cursed the plainly self-destructive impulse that had led him to believe that revisiting his own personal chamber of horrors was a good idea.

It was the tone of her voice that was his nemesis this time. He'd steeled himself against the knock-out blow he knew her eyes could deliver, the unexpected smile or blush or her tucking her hair behind her ear- all the simple gestures that he was too well aware could floor him. But he hadn't been prepared to recognise the kind of pain that he believed unique to himself in her voice.

She was perfectly in control yet grieving, the same anguished tone he'd used when last he'd had the opportunity to say goodbye. He knew he'd got the grieving down that night. He also knew she'd seen through any semblance of control he'd mustered. He wondered if she'd felt the hurt on his behalf, if she'd had any concept of what he was feeling then. There was no comfort in knowing that she'd certainly understand now. Nevertheless he couldn't help the momentary vindictive triumph that flashed across his mind as he realised that sometime between their last encounter and now, the bagboy had bitten the dust. Needless to say, where she was concerned his jealousy was never far away and he also couldn't help the tortured wondering whom the Jess was that she'd loved.

He wondered whether he should turn and run. He could still arrange an accidental meeting outside in the midst of the strangers that had once been his subjects when he'd passed for royalty in their twisted kingdom of privilege and desire. Or he could choose to walk away, keep walking from the whole damn idea that seeing her again wouldn't mess him up completely. He was still wondering when her phone snapped shut and she slowly turned around.

The form in front of her took shape and she jumped as she realised she wasn't alone. Her eyes were brighter blue even than usual, he noticed, though he couldn't tell if they shone with too many tears already shed or those that had still to fall. As they fixed on his, another scene played before his eyes- the once she'd sought him out to be each other's comfort. He hadn't welcomed her presence then and he doubted she welcomed his now. Then again, he was fairly certain she'd never welcomed his presence in this or any sphere of her existence.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…."

With that recollection came another, less welcome, less remembered because every time the scene had played in his mind the ending had been different, a wish whose only chance of coming true was in his dreams. But with her in front of him he had to remember the reality of her desperate retreat. Now he was apologising for the nothing that he'd done this time- heaven knew he had enough apologising to do without adding in things that hadn't been his fault- for fear she'd run before he even had a chance to say hello.

"Tristan."

The sound of his name cut him off mid stumbling apology.

"Mary."

It was a pity that whatever mature notions of restitution, of penance, that had driven him back to this godforsaken place hadn't thought to re-educate the sophomore mind that reflexively connected with his voice the moment he'd been required to speak.

For a second she looked affronted and he opened his lips again, hovering between another apology and saying her name again in the hope that she might not have noticed his slip.

"Satan."

She grinned, and his pure pleasure at her smile drowned the hurt that she still thought of him in such terms. Perhaps he deserved it. He'd deserved it once and she had no reason to suspect a change.

"Congratulations."

His hands were shoved firmly in his pockets in case they'd find some way to offer a handshake or, worse still, a hug she was bound to reject. He'd had enough rejection from her to last a lifetime and yet here he was, seeking out more just in case time should start to dull the pain she'd doled out to him in the past.

"Thanks."

She was oh-so-aware of the eyes fixed on her, making her uncomfortable as he always had, though she'd never cared to study why he should cause her to feel so awkward. Consideration of her reaction might have borne an answer so obvious it would have horrified her. Self-knowledge wasn't one of her strengths. Self-preservation was her forte.

"I enjoyed your speech."

"You were here for the whole thing?"

He nodded. "This is the day Chilton's finally behind me- when I can stop feeling guilty about the shame I've brought on my parents by not being here."

"Oh."

She was silent for a moment at his bitter sarcasm.

"How was military school?"

He shrugged. "I graduated."

"Congratulations."

He shrugged again.

She fidgeted and he figured she was looking for some means of escape. Silently he cursed himself. Bad enough to have put himself back in this situation but if he let her go without putting an end to it he deserved all of the abuse that Paris would undoubtedly throw his way when it came to her ears.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I- I didn't mean to walk in on your phone call," he said lamely, though it was true. "I just wanted to say congratulations."

"It's all right." She stared at the phone in her hand. "It didn't matter."

He nodded as though he understood.

"And I'm sorry for being such an ass to you."

"It's all right," she repeated. "I got over it." Another small smile.

"I presume my unfortunate departure didn't result in the group failing Shakespeare- Paris would have had me lynched by now."

"No- Paris played Romeo."

His eyes widened and she rolled her eyes at his obvious interest.

"Still the same one track mind I see. But I suggest you erase whatever perverted picture you have in your head right now before you traumatise both of us for life. She didn't kiss me."

He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Just as well. I don't know what I'd have done if you'd told me she was a better kisser."

Rory laughed. "I imagine there would have been irreparable damage to your ego. I guess I missed that opportunity but it wasn't an image I wanted floating in anyone's mind."

He desperately wanted to prolong this conversation. At some point he'd grown aware that it was the longest they'd spoken without trying to kill each other since she'd talked him into dating Paris. She'd looked away from him again and he wondered if she was about to excuse herself.

"Of course, I wouldn't have had anything to compare her to just then," she said, glancing back at him quickly. "As far as I remember you wouldn't kiss me goodbye."

His eyebrows shot up. He'd been prepared for almost anything but the unlikely event of her flirting with him, however harmlessly.

"Your boyfriend was watching. I was in enough trouble as it was. And as I recall you'd spent the previous couple of days making it very clear you wouldn't kiss me even if your grade depended on it."

He couldn't stop the acid creeping into his tone at her implied assertion that she might have let him. He didn't know how much better or worse that would have made everything. Either it was a grotesquely missed opportunity or a cause for celebration that at that moment in their history she hadn't hated him. Briefly he remembered the days leading up to that night, the way she'd been with him and with Dean. He wondered now which of them she'd been trying to protect, wondered if he'd had a little more perception at the time and less of a compulsion for self-annihilation how things would have turned out.

"I- no!" Her face had flushed at the question, the deepening pink of her cheeks highlighting the blue of her eyes. Reflexively she took a step back, folding her arms.

"I wondered…." she admitted diffidently, when she felt there was enough of a barrier between them again, wondering what she was doing having a conversation like this with her long lost adversary moments after having hung up on Jess.

"I don't see a boyfriend watching now," he observed, a challenge in his eyes to make her move closer.

"He broke up with me. Or at least, he didn't break up with me. He just left."

Her voice was bewildered, as though she had yet to come to terms with what had happened.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "The phone call?"

She nodded.

"He must be crazy. You're not that easy to leave behind, even when there isn't a choice."

She blushed again. "He didn't think he had a choice."

She thought that it was she that must be crazy, carrying on a conversation like this with the boy who'd been her sworn enemy from the day she'd entered these halls. She remembered that other moment when they'd almost called a truce, when she'd known briefly that he was just a boy, for all his bravado, a flesh-and-blood human being who could hurt just as much as her.

"I'm sorry too," she said suddenly, surprising herself.

"What for?" He was genuinely astonished.

"I wasn't very nice to you either."

"I started it."

One hand had made its way from his pocket to wave her apology away.

"You did too," she admitted. "I was provoked but I did retaliate. Even Paris told me I was mean to you."

"I probably deserved it."

"You did."

"You're not very good at apologising," he observed. "How is it that you're saying sorry and still making me feel guilty?"

She giggled. "I have many talents."

His eyes involuntarily raked over her as he tried to drag them back to hers.

"That you do, Mary."

She rolled her eyes. She'd forgotten how often she did that when he was around. If he hadn't left, she wasn't sure that her eyes wouldn't have got stuck mid-roll at some point over the past year and a half. But weirdly this felt familiar, comfortable.

"Are you sticking around?"

Her question was more abrupt than she'd planned but she could see Lorelai through the door looking impatient. Or distressed at being left alone with Emily and Richard.

"I'm going to Louise's graduation party. Apparently I'm fully rehabilitated and can be a normal member of society again."

"Maybe I'll see you there."

"I hope so."

His eyes held hers as she backed towards the door, colliding with Lorelai who had just come in search of her daughter. He turned quickly and walked away before there could be any need of explanation or introduction. It was enough for now that Rory didn't seem to want to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm very grateful for every one.

He wasn't in love with her. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that he'd ever been in love with her. He saw her for what she was, the catalyst for a long-overdue implosion in what had passed for his home life. She had just been the one thing he'd coveted and couldn't have in his then-sixteen spoiled years. And he'd reacted with the tantrum to end all tantrums that resulted in his father acting like a father for the only time in his life. At least, if being a father meant shipping your son out of sight until he could be returned as a socially more acceptable version of the original.

She'd never been like the other girls he craved, though to his credit he'd never pretended to be in love with them either. He didn't plan on using words like that until he meant them, whatever the rewards that were promised for empty declarations. He'd tried to stay clear of girls like that, the ones who'd try to trap him. His family had at least taught him to beware, though it was his own integrity rather than his heritage that he chose to protect. Instead, he'd contented himself with those who'd flaunted charms more obvious than hers, the girls who had as much to gain as him by having their names linked in idle gossip. Those who watched his ostentatious displays of hormone-driven lust around Chilton didn't realise that most of the time they were watching the main feature, not just some trailer for the eventual relief of his frustrations. He'd only been prepared to take what he could, when he could but his reputation had been built on their perceptions.

He was over it now, the teenage crush that had driven him half to distraction, sick of judging himself through her eyes. He'd never seen anything there but censure or pity. She wasn't worth it. He'd outgrown the stage of trying to provoke a different reaction and was no longer willing to accept her pity. He kind of wished that he hadn't developed a greater sense of self-awareness over the past year, though, since he was unfortunately conscious of the fact that she was his only draw to this godforsaken party. He'd hide out here in the shadows of the garden until he got his requisite thirty seconds of awkward goodbye.

But this time pride wouldn't let him waste his charm in futile attempts to get under her vulnerable skin. This time he'd be the one to walk away by choice. This time he'd had enough practice maintaining polite antipathy to use it when required.

They could both blame Paris for his presence at this party. She'd been the only one to maintain some semblance of contact with him after his abrupt departure, her correspondence alternately sympathetic and berating him for his stupidity. It was a combination he should have been used to. He'd kept in touch because having some last remaining thread with his old life seemed important, and Paris was the only link he had. But he'd never asked about Rory, and it was a long time before Paris had volunteered any information.

He still didn't know why. He'd known about the crush she'd had on him. In the beginning he'd wondered if plain jealousy prevented her mentioning Rory's name. Later he wondered if it was her twisted way of protecting him. But he noticed that after Jamie's name started creeping into her emails, there had been the occasional reference to Rory. Maybe it was just that after he'd left, they'd started to become friends. He didn't know and he'd never ask.

All the same, it was the chance meeting with Paris in the parking lot of the bookstore that had provoked his attendance at the Chilton graduation, when Louise at least had welcomed him with open arms and whispered that her party wouldn't be a real party without him. He'd accepted her nuzzling at his earlobe with a heavy lidded smile that belonged in the past he was so intent on never revisiting. Paris had been less gratifyingly pleased to be reunited with him, though he might have inadvertently provoked her wrath with his question.

"How's the speech going? I presume you're valedictorian elect?"

She'd glared at him and he wondered if she'd managed to hone her withering stare into a weapon of very immediate destruction in his absence. It made him want to duck behind the 4x4 he was ready to climb into.

"No. That would be your long lost little girlfriend."

"What?"

He'd grasped whom she meant pretty quickly but hadn't wanted to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was still as transparent as she believed him.

"Rory. And don't give me any of that bull you're about to. You want to see her again? Come and watch the stupid ceremony. Repent for past follies and agree to be friends. And forget her. She's doing very nicely without your help."

For once he'd failed to obey her command, though maybe that had been Rory's fault. She'd piqued his interest with that overheard monologue at her ex so that forgetting her, just for the moment, wasn't an order he could follow. He'd grasp instead at the bone of casual friendship Paris had so generously tossed him in return for his remorse. He just couldn't be sure that Rory would see it the same way. So he'd sit here, stone cold sober in the solitary confinement of his choosing until she found him. Or until he decided it was time to seek her out. Patience had never been his virtue.

His chances of her finding him hadn't been enhanced by her friends' reaction to her announcement that she planned on going to this party.

"You're serious?"

Lane hadn't been able to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

Rory nodded. "Why not?"

"Why not? Why not? Because we've been here before, Rory. Boy dumps girl, girl decides social life is in need of a revamp, girl kisses boy, girl has meltdown. This is not a picture we need to recreate."

"Jess isn't Dean. And he didn't dump me. He just left. And this isn't about him anyway. I'm not going to see most of these people again and I was forced to spend a large part of my time with them. It's not that strange."

"What did Lorelai say?"

"Pretty much the same as you. With more specific warnings about Tristan."

"But he's not here any more- what does he have to do with anything?"

"Nothing."

Rory peeled herself off the sofa and went into the kitchen. "Do you want a soda?"

"Please. What are you not telling me?"

"Tristan came back." Rory mumbled as though that would prevent Lane noticing what she was saying.

"Tristan came back?"

Rory nodded. "And Mom caught a glimpse of him after I'd been talking to him. After the Jess call. And…."

"And now you're blowing off dinner with the grandparents- who just gave you a car, might I add- to go to Louise's party. Where Tristan will be. After breaking up with Jess- however you describe it, he's gone. Stop me when it starts to sound unfamiliar."

Rory's jaw set stubbornly and Lane sighed. "You're going, aren't you? I'm afraid one thing will be different though."

"Just one? Which one would that be? The fact that this party's in Louise's house instead of Madeleine's-"

"Oh yes, that'll make all the difference."

Rory continued undeterred. "The fact that Jess isn't Dean, or that Tristan isn't- _Tristan_- any more?"

"I meant that I couldn't come this time because I have a date with Dave. But I'd like to hear more about how Tristan isn't Tristan."

Rory shrugged. "He just seemed different. He didn't make me want to cause him irreparable physical damage earlier."

"That doesn't mean he changed, Rory. It means you did. And compared to everything Jess put you through he may not look as bad as he did before."

"Don't compare Tristan to Jess. Jess is nothing like Tristan. Jess is- _was-_ everything. In the end he just…."

She trailed off as the tears started again. She'd never cried so much in her life. She'd kept up the façade of cheerful graduate for so long that when the cracks appeared everything she'd been holding back came flooding through.

"I'm sorry." Lane was immediately contrite, her arm round her friend.

"I loved him, Lane. Why didn't he tell me what was going on? Why didn't he tell me he was leaving?"

Lane thought she knew the answer to that one. "Because he was afraid you might try to stop him. Or try to go with him. Either way I think he knew it wasn't going to work. It's not like he was treating you well before that, Rory."

"I know, but…."

Rory wiped at her eyes with her hands and Lane sighed.

"We'd better get you cleaned up for the party."

An hour later Rory had found herself standing outside Louise's, her new car parked neatly beside a row of others, though she wondered if their owners would be in any condition to drive later. Lane had coaxed her into the new blue dress that had been earmarked for dinner with Jess after graduation. She'd felt more like consigning it to the break-up box at the back of Lorelai's wardrobe: unworn, unloved, unwanted. Despite her insistence that the party was a good idea, she hadn't managed to convince herself. No-one would expect her to be here, though this time she wasn't afraid that she wouldn't find a face she recognised sufficiently to say hello. These days she merited a place of toleration in the Chiltonite world. She'd learned to exist in their universe though they'd never understand hers. She went to school with them and then she disappeared back to her parallel life. Only Paris had tried to break into that and it was doubtful that she'd have welcomed any other intruders. After the fiasco that had been Madeline's party, she'd never tried to fit in with them again. What was she doing here by choice anyway?

"Thought you weren't coming, Gilmore?"

"It's nice to see you too Paris." She parroted the usual greeting with its inevitable sarcasm as she turned to see what passed for her best Chilton friend beside her. "I take it you're here until whatever time your watch beeps to tell you you've put in enough effort socialising for one evening?"

"No. Oddly this time I wasn't forced here. It seemed like the right thing to do. Fill in the gaps about people now that it's too late to matter."

Rory nodded, worried that Paris was starting to make sense of her earlier garbled reaction to graduation. "Me too."

"I guess we should go in then."

"I guess we should."

They stood a moment longer until eventually Rory walked up to the open door, Paris trailing behind with a sigh. This had never been her idea of fun.

"You came!"

Louise threw her arms round Rory and moved to do the same to Paris, who stepped back and folded her arms.

"Well, hello, Paris." She changed the greeting to a wave from a nice safe distance.

"Hello."

Whether at the party by choice or not Paris couldn't alter her slightly sulky tone. "Where do the coats go?"

"Upstairs. Second bedroom on the left. It shouldn't be occupied."

"I'll take yours."

"Thanks."

Rory shrugged her way out of her coat and handed it over. "I'll see you inside?"

Paris nodded as Louise shepherded Rory away in the direction of the bar.

"Here. Have some champagne."

"Thanks."

She took the glass awkwardly, not really wanting it, especially with her brand new car parked outside.

"Do you want to come and find Madeline? Or there's food in the kitchen."

"Food sounds good. You go on, though."

"All right. Come and find us when you're ready."

Rory nodded as Louise swept back into the throng. She turned and stared in the direction of the kitchen. It looked less crowded. And she was starving. She wandered through and grabbed a plate to fill, grateful for once that at these parties caterers were a pre-requisite.

She'd exchanged greetings with at least five people who surprised her with effusive congratulations, though she suspected these owed something to the half-empty glasses in their hands than to any real good wishes, when she decided she needed some peace and quiet. Tentatively she pushed open a door to the conservatory. It was mostly empty, and she sighed with relief as she settled onto a chair with her food.

She picked up the book lying beside her. "The Motorcycle Diaries."

She opened it as she started to eat.

"Good to see some things haven't changed."

She hadn't noticed the person leaning over in front of her and she started as she raised her eyes.

"Still reading at a party? You really are very odd."

She smiled. "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls.

Author's Note: I'd stopped writing for a long time- and I've been trying to write some original fiction. Please review if you want me to continue this- I know it's been a long time!

"Mind if I sit?"

He indicated the empty seat beside her and she nodded. "Go ahead."

"It's a good book. Good film, too."

Rory choked.

"Are you all right?"

He slapped her helpfully on the back as she spluttered and her face turned red. Her eyes were starting to water as she recovered herself.

"Yes…..I…..just……you read it?"

Even half out of breath after her choking fit the disbelief sounded in her voice.

Tristan nodded. "Read the film too if you count the subtitles. Are you casting aspersions on my intellect, Gilmore? You did tell me once I was smart."

"Smarter than Duncan and Bowman. It was a relative term," she retorted.

He sighed and his shoulders sagged. "Pity it hadn't been true."

Maybe it was just that she was over-sensitive to hurt in others, she'd been so recently damaged herself, but as soon as she'd said it she'd regretted the comment. He hadn't needed the comeback to make her feel bad.

Her hand was suddenly on his arm and he stared at it, astonished that she'd reach out to him in any way at all.

"It was true, though. You made it, didn't you? You graduated despite everything. And you came back- I'm sure that made your minions very happy."

Try as she might she couldn't resist the slight barb.

"Pity I'm not the guy my public demands any more," he said softly, raising his eyes to meet hers.

She withdrew her hand and focussed on her half empty plate instead. "You're here, aren't you? What's the difference?"

"For a start I'm sitting talking to you instead of out there in the middle of them all. As far as I'm aware I haven't hit on you once even though I know you broke up with someone and you're probably vulnerable. And we both know that worked well for me in the past."

He paused as she blushed and pretended to concentrate on pushing the remaining food around her plate.

"But I've kept my hands to myself despite the fact that we're being watched and -"

"We're what?"

Rory snapped out of her uncomfortable trance and looked at him in horror.

He was unaccountably disappointed by her reaction, having been only amused by the fact that Louise, Madeline and Paris were staring at them, not even bothering to hide their interest. He should have known she'd want anything other than to be seen with him, however innocent the context.

It didn't help that he could hear the whispers, even as they caught her glare.

"I thought she had a boyfriend?" Madeline had always been last to hear any news.

"They broke up." He'd have expected Paris to confine herself to stating the bald facts.

"I didn't think she had it in her." Louise sounded admiring. He didn't imagine Rory would welcome her approval. "She's wasting no time in moving onwards and upwards."

"Neither is he." Commentary from Paris was the last thing he needed. He glared at her as she raised her eyebrows before turning on her heel to walk away. He could only hope that Rory's hearing was less acute than his.

The object of his concern sighed. "You'd think they'd have something better to do."

"You would?"

He sounded incredulous and Rory laughed. "You haven't changed that much. That sounded exactly like the Tristan I knew."

He grinned. "Or not. I don't remember making you laugh much. Maybe if I had you'd have spent less time wanting to kill me. What about you anyway- what are you doing here? Did you really have nothing better to do tonight?"

Her face darkened. "Not tonight. I could have had dinner with Mom and the grandparents but even this seemed more appealing than that. And I was meant to be going to Europe next week with my mom- to do the whole backpacker thing- but it fell through too."

"Why's that?"

"She's opening a new inn with her friend Sookie. They just heard they're getting it but it needs a lot of work. And she needs to be here for that. So….Europe's off for now."

"It's over-rated anyway."

"Yes, I can see myself taking your word for that."

He smiled, surprised again that the conversation was so civil. Now that he wasn't hitting on her and she wasn't trying so hard to rebuff him, he could see that he'd been right all along and in some ways they were on the same wavelength.

"Are you free on Sunday night?"

She shrugged.

"My grandfather's having a party. You could come with me- not on a date," he added hastily as she started to shake her head.

"I don't want to go alone- they'll make me entertain any single grandmother they can find. And it's not that I couldn't find someone to take- but I'd rather not take my usual kind of date. My grandfather's been pretty good to me. And I know he thinks highly of you."

"Flattery's never got you anywhere before, Tristan. And your grandfather doesn't even know me."

"He knows your grandparents. I seem to recall they thought highly of me."

"They did before you released your inner criminal. Although since you still got to use the DuGrey name that probably didn't matter so much to them. Let me get this straight though- you want me to accompany you to your grandfather's party as a friend so that you'll look good?"

"Something like that." He was aware that he was holding his breath.

"And it's not a date?"

"No. Honestly, Gilmore, at this point I have far too much self respect to ask you out on a date."

He wondered if she could see through the glib response to know that he was lying, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it was true. If he was honest, this was just the only way he could ask her out that might give him a chance of her saying yes. But it wasn't just his self-respect he was trying to protect.

If he'd learned to read her better he'd have known that she was beaten, though, out of the strength to say no unless he left her with no choice.

She'd never been that girl in her head, the one who'd sought him out for comfort when she'd broken up with Dean. She'd never been the girl who'd cheated on Dean when Jess came alone, nor the one that waited in at night in the hope that Jess might call. She didn't want to accept that she was all of those girls, ruled by her heart and her insecurities just like all the rest of them, weighed down by a set of baggage that no-one else could understand.

She'd known faces of love that had never been available to him. She'd had the reassurance and support for which he hadn't known to wish from family and friends. She'd known the suffocation of expected perfection from those who were close to her: she'd been the china princess that didn't dare to fall from her pedestal. She'd been the victim of her own affections, learning only to run from love when she hadn't the strength to hold on. Lorelai had taught her well.

"Come on, Rory," he tried coaxing her. "It's one evening out of your life and you'll be completely safe even if you don't trust me. I'm hardly going to try anything with my grandfather and his friends watching my every move."

She shrugged, certain she'd regret this. "All right."

"Good. Now let's go and rescue your reputation from Louise."

She laughed. "I think my reputation's pretty safe for now with Paris as my chaperone. You might have some catching up to do, though."

They'd made it to the door when Louise accosted them. "Tristan! You've been hiding out here with Rory all night. Weren't you going to dance with me- or wait, am I interrupting something?"

Rory rolled her eyes as Tristan looked uncomfortable. "No, Louise, he's all yours."

He glared at her. She couldn't blame him. There had been nothing in their conversation to deserve the contempt in her voice. It was purely habit on her part but behind his glare she could see hurt. Hurt wasn't something she associated with him. The few occasions he'd let her see it had always been outweighed by the times he'd driven her crazy with his lewd comments and crude attempts at flirtation.

"Great," Louise breathed, taking his hand. "Let's dance."

"Sorry," he said quickly, withdrawing his hand with more urgency than politeness.

Both girls looked at him in surprise.

"I….."

His voice trailed off as he tried to think of a suitable escape route.

"Actually, Louise, I promised him one dance and we'd better get it over with- I have to go soon."

He looked at her in astonishment as Louise's eyebrows shot upwards. "I thought he was all mine?" she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Old times' sake," he said quickly, placing a hand on Rory's back before she could find a way out.

"You owe me," she muttered as he shepherded her into the midst of the crowd and she ducked under flailing arms. "This is not my idea of fun."

"But it was your idea," he pointed out as he started to move in front of her and she stared at him, arms folded and lips pursed. He sighed. "Come on Rory, it's not that I'm not grateful for the rescue, but if you offer to dance you should actually dance. Otherwise we both look ridiculous."

"You think you don't look ridiculous already?"

The sudden, slight glint in her eye was the only encouragement he needed to grab her hands and start spinning her round, finishing in a dip while she yelped in startled fashion.

"I didn't offer to let you manhandle me!" she complained

He smirked- a sight she'd hated once but somehow now it made her smile. "This was not manhandling, Mary. If you'd like to compare and contrast, I would however be happy to oblige."

She rolled her eyes. "Just when I thought you'd finally learned my name. Do I need to point out it's in your interests to be nice to me if you want me to save you from Louise? Or help you make a good impression on your grandfather?"

"I am being nice to you," he said in an injured tone. He sighed again.

"We're just dancing. Catching up. Why does it always have to be a fight with you?"

"I'm sorry."

She meant it. She was so busy being sure he was the same old Tristan- although the same old Tristan hadn't actually been all bad either, she remembered. So busy rebuilding her walls after Jess that she was hardly able to be civil in case she'd get hurt. She couldn't begin to figure out why she'd rescued him from Louise. It wasn't as though Tristan DuGrey ever really needed rescuing from a willing female. Then again, maybe tonight the part of her that was broken saw something similar in him. She couldn't be sure she'd even be here if she hadn't known she'd see him.

"I'm not very good company tonight."

He stepped back. "The boyfriend?"

"The ex-boyfriend."

She could feel the lump growing in her throat and fought against it. This was no place to start crying again, not in front of Tristan, not in Louise's house, not at a Chilton party when she'd never let them see her cry and would never see her again anyway.

She tried to smile. "I should go- my mom's probably home from the grandparents and ready to burst with the effort of being polite to them."

"I'll walk you out to your car."

She shook her head. "You don't have to- that's silly."

He grinned. "It's not silly at all- gives me an excuse to get out of here too."

"Thanks."

She waited as he went to get her coat, having described it in detail for him, not knowing he'd been watching from outside as she arrived, memorising every detail about her. By the time he returned, a few moments later, she'd managed to compose herself again.

"When will I pick you up on Sunday?"

She shook her head and he felt disappointment rise. She was going to back out. She'd never see him as anything other than the jackass that had made her life a misery before his overdue exile.

"There's no need. I'll come over to your grandfather's- although I'll call you on the way and you'd better be outside waiting," she warned him.

He felt suddenly light again. "No problem. And thanks, Rory."

"It'll put a time limit on my wallowing." He raised his eyebrows and she shook her head again, managing a small smile. "At least, you'd better hope I don't show up in ice-cream stained pyjamas."

He wanted to hug her, to kiss it all better but that would just make it worse. He couldn't comfort her when, once again, he wasn't the comfort she wanted. So he was surprised when they reached her car and she leaned up to quickly kiss his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, surprised.

"Good company," she said, warmth from her smile lighting her eyes briefly. "See you Sunday."

"Sunday," he echoed, closing her car door.

For the first time, he was happy to be home.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're going on a date with Tristan? Are you insane?"

Rory glared at Lane. "It's not a date. I am simply accompanying him to his grandfather's party so that he doesn't have to take some Barbie doll. I'm sure he'd rather be with one though."

She felt a brief pang, as though she was betraying him. She didn't really believe he'd rather be with someone like that any more.

Lane rolled her eyes.

"It's no good talking to her," Lorelai observed coming in with a basket of laundry. "I've tried telling her that going into the very entrance of hell with Satan is no way to start her summer but has she listened?"

"It might be hot though." Lane shrugged with a grin and Rory glared at her again.

"I suppose Satan would have to be hot," Lorelai agreed. "He'd certainly need to be to make an occasion like this worthwhile."

"What are you wearing?"

"I don't know. Maybe the dress I wore on grad night?"

"You can't wear that. He's already seen it," Lane said, scandalized.

"It doesn't matter because it's not a date!"

"You'd better hope the grandparents don't find out or it'll be a wedding instead of a date."

"Yes, they'd be so happy to see me with another juvenile delinquent." Again, the unaccountable pang as she felt guilty for betraying him again.

"Was that a Jess joke? Can we joke about him now? Is it time? Mommy's so proud!"

Lorelai hugged her as Rory grimaced, pulling back quickly to look at her daughter suspiciously. "Wait- does that mean you're over Jess?"

"What choice do I have? He's not coming back. Doesn't mean I'm ready to move on."

"Doesn't mean she's finished wallowing," Lane added, waving at the empty pizza boxes and ice cream tubs. "She's been wearing those pyjamas for three days."

"True. Rory, honey, even if it's not a date, I think you should shower before you go out."

Rory glared at them again. It was as well she'd spent the past year perfecting a Paris-like evil glare. It had been certain to come in useful sometime. Jess, of course, had been oblivious to it, even if she could have brought herself to use it on him when he'd deserved it. She shook her head, wishing again she'd been less of a doormat where he was concerned. It was just that she hadn't been able to help it. The funny thing was that she didn't think he'd been able to help the way he'd treated her either. She still believed that everything he'd done had been done for her in some twisted way. If he'd just been able to see that she hadn't cared if he could pay to take her out, if he'd just known that all she cared about was being with him, whether that was watching him serve coffee in Luke's, or lying on her sofa watching movies, maybe he'd still be here. Maybe he'd have graduated. Maybe they'd have gone to Prom with Lane and Dave and everything would have been the way it was meant to be.

"Rory? Are you still with us?"

"Yes, shower, dress," she mumbled, suddenly too tired to fight with them any more and too tired to figure out why she'd agreed to this non-date anyway.

"Good girl."

Lane and Lorelai looked at each other as she shuffled off towards the bathroom.

"Has she said anything to you?"

"No. You?"

"No." Lorelai paused, thinking. "Of course, she didn't tell me about Dean to begin with. Or Jess."

"There was probably a good reason for that. The Jess part, anyway."

"Yes. And Tristan is obviously so parent-friendly."

"At least he's grandparent-friendly." Rory returned, swathed in towels. "And now, if you two have finished discussing me, can you please leave me to get ready?"

"Are you sure you can manage on your own?"

"Call me later," Lane said hurriedly, watching the death glare reappear.

"I will. And contrary to your opinion, mother, I am now fully grown and have been able to dress myself for quite some time now."

"You're no fun. Call me later too."

"Won't you be here?"

"No- I'm doing inn stuff with Sookie later." Lorelai squeezed her arm on the way past. "Try not to get sucked into grandparent world- you know you won't like it."

"I know."

Rory sighed as the door closed and she was left alone. She knew they meant well but the constant warnings about Tristan and their attempts to determine if something was going on left her edgy. He wasn't the same boy any more- and if she was honest, he'd probably never been quite as evil as she'd painted him. She'd never wanted to admit that maybe they had had more chemistry than she and Dean. After Jess, it was something she could let herself see with hindsight. After Jess, everything looked different.

An hour later she was pulling into his grandfather's driveway, clad in the dress she'd worn to impress Jess the summer before, when she'd come back from Washington to find him wrapped around Shane. There were few of her belongings that didn't remind her of him in some way. Books were especially hard- every one he'd read had notes in the margins- every one she read that he hadn't made her wonder what he'd think of it. Sometimes she could still hear his reviews in her head, could still argue with him in her mind because she knew exactly what he'd say.

And then she had no choice but to get out of the car and hand her keys to the valet before she remembered she'd forgotten to call Tristan to tell him she was almost there. She looked anxiously at the people around the front door. They all looked as though they'd fit right in at one of her grandparents' functions. She had no desire to push her way through them and no idea where she'd find him anyway.

"Rory!"

Fortunately she was spared having to search for him as he came walking towards her across the lawn.

"You didn't call," he said accusingly. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I forgot to call," she said lamely. "But I wouldn't have not come without telling you."

"Come inside," he said, remembering that she was doing him a favour just by being here. Remembering that he was happy to see her, not too happy, just the right side of pleased to have a date- or a non-date- of whom his grandfather would approve. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

She felt awkward, having little to say in a situation where she was with him by agreement. There was no precedent for this. He took her arm to guide her through the door with practiced chivalry that she felt should have grated, but somehow didn't. She'd always objected less to the formality of her grandparents' world than Lorelai had. Perhaps it was because she knew she could leave at any time, that it wasn't permanent and she could go home whenever she wanted to the monkey lamp and the worn out sofa and the Pop-Tarts.

"Tristan!"

They both turned at the sound of his name.

"Hello, grandfather."

"It's good to see you here. Who is your friend?"

"This is Rory Gilmore."

She held out her hand, surprised at the note of pride in his voice as he introduced her.

"Good afternoon, Rory. You're Richard and Emily's granddaughter?"

"Yes sir. It's good to meet you."

"And you. Your grandparents speak very highly of you."

"And Tristan speaks very highly of you."

Having bothered to come here she was keen to present him in the best light possible. Obviously that was something that mattered to him, though that in itself had surprised her.

Mr. DuGrey chuckled. "Don't believe everything you hear. Take her out to the terrace, Tristan- there's a jazz band out there, and I believe your grandparents are somewhere around as well, my dear. And make sure my grandson looks after you properly."

'I'm sure he will."

She waited until they were through the hall and into the big living room that opened onto the terrace before saying anything to Tristan.

"Was that all right?"

"That was perfect." He fought the urge to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you."

"Why is it so important for you to make a good impression on him?"

"I want him to let me move in. Being at home- they still treat me like they expect me screw up every other day. My grandfather sees it differently- I did something stupid, I got punished and I'd better have learned my lesson. He doesn't expect anything else."

They reached the French doors and walked outside to find people dancing to the jazz quartet.

"Do you want to dance?"

She looked at the couples nervously and shook her head. "It reminds me too much of my debutante ball. Or at least of practising for it. I have no co-ordination whatsoever."

"Relax," he said easily. "Just follow my lead."

She found herself suddenly in his arms, clumsily trying to follow him.

"I wouldn't have thought you were the type for a debutante ball."

"I'm not. It was my grandmother's idea."

"That figures. So who was the partner? Bagboy?"

She slapped him lightly, relaxed at last. "Don't call him that! And yes- it was Dean."

"That was probably before I left." She nodded. "So Jess happened sometime after that?"

She nodded again, reluctant to talk about him. "He said I looked like a cotton ball."

"What?"

"The night of the ball. Actually he was probably right."

"And you went out with him? What did I do wrong? I bought you PJ Harvey tickets and asked you out nicely."

"Jess never asked me out. He didn't have to," she added softly. "He wrecked my car and my wrist got broken and he left. And I went after him and he came back and I kissed him. And then I went away and he was with someone else but he got rid of the Rory curtain and he stared at me during the danceathon and then I broke up with Dean and then we were together. And then we got closer and he started working too much and then he left."

With her head hidden next Tristan's shoulder, she could cry again at the thought of it, no matter that she'd insisted the wallowing was over. He'd had difficulty following the garbled resume but no trouble in catching the gist of her hurt.

"I'm sorry."

She managed to look up at him with a watery smile. "This is one thing I'm pretty sure is not your fault."

"Rory? Rory, come and say hello to your grandmother. She's standing over there convinced you're ignoring her."

Richard Gilmore was striding towards them.

"Damn," she muttered, blinking violently and trying to pull herself out of Tristan's arms.

"Hi, Grandpa. You remember Tristan DuGrey?"

"Of course. And he still has excellent taste in friends."

"It's good to see you again, sir."

"Rory! Well, this is a wonderful surprise. You should have told us you were coming."

"Hi, Grandma."

Emily's eyes narrowed as she took in Rory's slightly red-rimmed eyes but for once she managed to say nothing.

"I presume your mother isn't here?"

"No- it's just me." Rory looked at Tristan pleadingly. If she'd rescued him from Louise, surely he could return the favour.

"I was just going to show Rory my grandfather's rose garden," he said.

"Oh, how lovely!" Emily exclaimed.

"Don't let us hold you back," Richard added.

She was grateful for anything that would get her out of having to answer their questions. Unfortunately she hadn't bargained for Tristan's. He seemed to have been hanging on for the opportunity to start an inquisition.

"Why didn't you go after Jess?"

"What?"

"Rory, I was there when you broke up with Dean the first time. You don't give up. Why did you give up on Jess?"

"He gave up on me. On us. He just left."

"You said you went after him when he left before."

"This time's different."

"Why?"

She was silent.

"Because this time you think he was right," Tristan said softly.

"Yes, that's it."

She turned on him sarcastically then, the sheen of angry tears in her eyes. "Clearly I think that my boyfriend was right to run out on me without to taking me to prom like he promised. I think he was right to leave without saying goodbye and go the whole way across the country to see a father he hadn't even told me had been here. I think it didn't matter that I loved him, or that I stood up for him against my mother and my friends and my grandparents. This is all just fine."

He sat down on the bench beside her, wishing he could put an arm round her, offer some comfort, but that would have to be another of the biggest mistakes of his life.

"All right, so it's not fine. But the fact that you're hurt doesn't mean you think there was any other possible outcome."

"He made it end this way."

"Maybe somebody had to."

She was silent, hating the fact that he'd put into words exactly what she thought. She hated the fact that he was right- if she was just a bit stronger, if she believed a little more, she might have gone after Jess. Maybe he'd just had to guts to admit what she couldn't and gone before it tore both of them to pieces.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

He couldn't say what he wanted to scream- that Jess was either an idiot, or had more strength to leave her than Tristan himself could imagine. It had taken a foray into crime to get him away from Rory Gilmore, and it wasn't even as though he'd ever been able to call her his own. He pushed a hand through his hair to stop himself caressing hers.

She smiled at him again. "You're good in my break ups."

He raised his eyebrows and she flushed. "I didn't mean……."

At least she hadn't forgotten.

"I should go." She stood up and he scrambled to follow her.

"Obviously I'm great in a break up. Somehow it always ends with you crying and running away."

"I'm not running away. I'm just not really up for a party right now."

He nodded, not wanting to push it while at least she was still speaking to him. Treading on eggshells seemed to be working.

They walked in silence back to the house and he called for her car. "Thank you," she said softly, holding out her hand for him to shake.

"Thank you," he echoed, not wanting to let go but not having any other choice.

He watched as she drove away.


	5. Chapter 5

He wasn't much of a believer in second chances

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls.

Author's Note: I'm sorry life gets in the way of my writing and really delays my updates. But thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews!

He wasn't much of a believer in second chances. Or even second thoughts. But second chances didn't often look like Rory Gilmore and if he paid attention to second thoughts he wouldn't have obeyed the impulse to turn up on her doorstep after three sleepless nights.

As soon as he'd reached Stars Hollow, it had suddenly dawned on him that his car would stand out in the small town as though he'd arrived on horseback. Or elephant or camel or unicorn. Even though he'd chosen it with care from his grandfather's collection of classics, a vague memory of the pile of crap she'd driven before he'd left reminding him that she might be more impressed by that than his own new sports car. Not that he wanted to remember the story he'd heard in the halls, the gossip that Rory's boyfriend had loving restored a car for her. Even the spoilt little rich girls had loved that kind of romance. Funny how even after this length of time, even though he knew there had been Jess since, Dean was still some kind of thorn in his side. But there was no turning back now. He'd been standing outside her house for long enough to see the curtains twitch at the house next door and if he waited any longer he was afraid her neighbours would come out to see what he was doing there. If they didn't call the police first.

Second thoughts might at least have left him with a plan of what to say when she opened the door. If she opened the door. If she hadn't already seen him and wasn't hiding behind the door. As he leaned against his car, staring at the door, it opened and he'd have jumped backwards if only he'd had anywhere to go.

"Can I help you?"

He recognised Lorelai. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"I- uh- I was just here- and wondering if Rory was in?"

He hadn't sounded as nervous since- well, since forever. He sounded like the guys he'd made fun of- or rather, he hadn't, but his friends had- in high school. The guys who'd been so far beneath his notice that their shortcomings hadn't even registered sufficiently with him for ridicule. Brad, for one. He remembered the way Brad couldn't even get his words out around Paris. Then again, that had been Paris. It could just have been some kind of defence mechanism kicking in- like a hedgehog curling up or a tortoise retreating into his shell.

"She's inside. Bonus points if you can get her to leave the house," Lorelai said, coming down the steps. "I'm just on my way out- it's Tristan, isn't it?"

She held out her hand and he shook it. "Yes."

"Lorelai."

"It's good to meet you."

She looked at him appraisingly. "You too. Go on in- Rory? You've got company!" she called over her shoulder. "Good luck."

"Uh- thanks?"

He wasn't used to mothers wishing him luck with their daughters. Usually they wouldn't have thought he'd need it. Usually of course, he wouldn't need it. He was used not only to girls flinging themselves at him, but their parents pushing them in his direction. He wasn't given to self-analysis but he wouldn't have been surprised if part of the reason he'd never got Rory out of his head was that she hadn't fallen into that pattern. The chase had never exactly thrilled him, but maybe the lack thereof throughout his Chilton days had readied him for a change.

"Hello?"

He pushed the door open.

"Tristan?"

He was struck immediately by how much effort it must have taken her to get through graduation, to get to Louise's party and to turn up at his grandfather's party. She looked as bad as he could ever have imagined Rory Gilmore looking, those mesmerising eyes dulled with sadness, hair unkempt and not in any tousled sexy way, soft, sloppy clothes that hid her figure more comprehensively than her Chilton uniform ever had.

"I- was just passing."

"Through Stars Hollow?" Her eyes widened, a small flicker of amusement sparking life into them.

He shrugged. "So I came to see if you were all right."

"I'm all right."

She glanced down at herself suddenly and reddened. "But since I wouldn't actually want you to think this is just how I normally dress it's possible I've been better."

"Didn't know you cared what I thought."

"I don't."

"Right."

Leave it to him to ruin a perfectly pleasant conversation. She'd managed several whole sentences without either of them raising their voices until his voice had decided to bypass his brain. Everything with her required so much focus. He couldn't tell if she was really worth it, if his pride really demanded that she didn't think ill of him.

"I mean, if you tell Paris, she'll know I'm not more together than she is and some days that's the only way I can keep her under any kind of control."

"You think you have Paris under control?"

He must have sounded slightly incredulous as she laughed.

"To a certain extent. So, does passing through involve you leaving now or do you want to stay for a while?"

"I guess I could stay. For a while. Unless I'm interrupting you."

He was determined to give her every opportunity to get rid of him. It was likely to be the only way he could convince himself that she didn't hate his company. Then again, she was obviously in the kind of shape that shouldn't be alone. Maybe it was just that his company was better than none. Of course, he'd take that. He was pretty sure that, given the choice, she'd have taken her chances with a serial killer instead of him in their days at Chilton.

"Let me get changed."

"You don't have to."

"No, I really think I do. The couch is there, and the remote's on the end. I'll only be a couple of minutes. Watch whatever you want."

He picked up the remote and settled himself on the couch as instructed as she vanished into what he assumed was her room. He'd never been in a house quite like this one- it bore no resemblance to his own or those of any of his friends, styled and designed to be ready for whatever very important visitors might drop by. This was a home- he wasn't sure he really understood the difference but there was clutter that obviously meant something, photographs, notes stuck to dvd covers, a well-worn throw, a monkey lamp that had to have some sentimental value as it certainly wouldn't be winning any design awards.

"Ready?"

He snapped off the sofa, turning to look at her. Her hair was bundled into a ponytail, and she was wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She'd managed a small amount of lipgloss and he was suddenly almost overwhelmed that she'd gone to any kind of effort, given the way she obviously felt. She didn't look great, but she certainly looked better.

"Always."

Either he was dumber than either of them had ever believed or there was something that drove him to provoke her. Being friends- though that was, after all, all he was supposed to be aiming for, was never going to be the whole option with them. Maybe he just liked seeing her blush, knowing that was one power he still had over her, wondering how far he could push before she'd snap. Maybe he still had a thing for danger.

She couldn't help but flush, just a little, enough to make her eyes sparkle, just a little. With one word he was able to brighten her day, just enough that she felt it, just enough to make her roll her eyes, though this time she wasn't entirely sure whether it was at him or her own reaction to him.

"The question is ready for what?"

He wondered with that if he'd pushed her too far although the query was fair. He certainly hadn't thought to plan what he'd suggest if she was willing actually to spend time with him.

She shrugged. "I guess it is time I left the house. I haven't been out since I went to your grandfather's. But if we hang around Stars Hollow we'll only have to answer questions about who you are and what you're doing here."

"My car is outside. We can go into Hartford or something if you want."

"Should I trust your driving? And I just got a car- I can drive."

"You think I'd let anything happen to my car? Have you seen it?"

He didn't have to force the incredulity into his voice, though he wasn't sure if it came from the challenge in her eyes or the fact that she dared to question his driving.

"All right then. Although you should know I get car sick sometimes."

He paused on his way to the door.

"Really?"

She laughed- something he'd never heard much of, and certainly not since he'd been back- and shook her head.

"Not really- or at least, only once on the way home from a fair in Hartford after too many hotdogs and icecreams. I was ten. Usually we Gilmores have stomachs of iron."

"Good to know."

He decided his custom leather seats were safe enough and led her outside, opening the passenger door. Simple politeness was no more than she expected, even from him.

"Cool car."

"Thank you."

"It's not exactly what I'd have expected."

"It's my grandfather's," he heard himself admit. She was like some kind of truth serum- he might have known exactly which buttons to push to wind her up but he couldn't be anything less than honest with her.

"I figured you for Porsche boy," she said with a laugh.

"You ever going to get over your misconceptions about me?"

"So what do you usually drive when you're not borrowing your grandfather's car?"

"That would be a Porsche," he said, refusing to sound ashamed, as she laughed. Frankly, he'd say almost anything if it made her laugh.

Laughter wasn't something he'd ever associated with Rory. She took school more seriously than anyone he'd met, except Paris, and most of the times he'd talked to her she'd been angry with him. Except for the time at Madeleine's party- and neither of them had been laughing then either.

Then again, laughter probably wasn't something she associated with him either. He'd been far too busy trying to impress- if not her, anyone else within range who'd be taken in by the rich-boy rebel persona he'd perfected. Sadness seemed to be their default setting when he wasn't trying to get into her pants and she wasn't shooting looks to kill at him. He wondered again what on earth he'd been doing, turning up at her house. What on earth made him think they had any chance of being friends?

"Coffee?" he asked, knowing it was the one offer that was guaranteed to meet with her approval.

"Coffee," she assented easily. Maybe if he kept the conversation to things that he knew she couldn't refuse this friendship thing would work. Of course, he'd tried that approach before with the PJ Harvey tickets and it hadn't exactly been a success.

"Library?"

He heard himself ask and couldn't blame her for looking at him as if he was slightly deranged.

"What?" He tried to look as though it was the most normal suggestion in the world. "You like to read."

"I could have read at home," she muttered.

"You got any better ideas?"

She blushed and he wondered for a split second if she had.

"Coffee's fine for now, mister. Now drive!"

He couldn't help the smile that made it way beyond his usual smirk.


End file.
